I spent a sleepless night anxiously awaiting news on the birth of my granddaughter. Three weeks early and tiny, I was hoping her weight was enough to keep her out of NICU. My night was spent looking at the phone for any texts, any news that she and her momma were just fine.

The next morning, still waiting. And life has a way of moving forward in the waiting, in the meantime. The seconds slip into minutes and the day grows older.

Friends and family were gathering to remember a young life, taken too soon. Slowly, I ready for the day anticipating the news of this life we have been waiting seven months to meet while preparing to hold dear the family grieving the life they lost after 36 years of loving.

Life’s dichotomy sat large in my room while I brushed my wet hair. My worry over this new life birthing into the world as well as sadness over the remembrance of a life stilled and silent forced my brush strokes to be jagged.

I’ll not lie; the emotions were more than I could carry. Anticipation mingled with procrastination. Like procrastinating will make either the birth go faster and the memorial service not exist.

In the midst of getting dressed and checking my texts, this quandary of life settled heavy on my heart. All life ends in death. Yet, all life is consequential in its living. And I walk into the church with friends asking, “Is she here yet?” I’m still waiting for the text.

Even they feel the dichotomy of life expecting and life remembering.

When the moment came, when the picture revealed, I showed the littlest life I have ever seen to everyone who was near me. And with that relief, I sat in the sanctuary to share grief with dear friends. I sat in this holy place while they extolled a young man whose life painted the world with art and wonder.

His wife spoke. Her words fluttered around the room while tears fell down her cheeks. His father didn’t need any notes. His own love and pride and sorrow wove the stories, the memories, into a well-loved blanket to hold onto forever.

The speeches given and lunch served and the family loved on. And life has a way of moving forward in the waiting, in the meantime. The seconds slip into minutes and the day grows older.

I sat there having an iced rose pistachio coffee listening, feeling, and holding. Smiles light on faces with tears reflecting nearby. Sounds of laughter from memories carrying the weight of missing a dear friend. Someone asking me to see the picture with congratulations and adoration over the cutest little girl you ever did see.

Breathe in gratefulness and exhale mourning.

My heart can’t comprehend the rainbow of emotions in this moment. So, I breathe in gratefulness and exhale mourning. And isn’t this the state of the mind in this world? We live daily with excitement and disappointment. With anticipation and anxiety. With hope and despair. With life and death.

Every life ends in death. Every conversation ceases. Every moment moves on. And life has a way of moving forward in the waiting, in the meantime. The seconds slip into minutes and the day grows older.

And we must live in this dichotomy of life. We must swim this pool of overwhelming emotions. We know and experience that grief and gratitude can be held together, close and sacred, in the same space and same time.

I was excited, worried, anticipating like a child at Christmas over the birth of my granddaughter. It was a moment and it was real and it was impactful. I was overjoyed when she came and thought of nothing else than meeting her as soon as possible. And all while that was going on I was confused at a young life taken. I was troubled because he was such a fine young man and I love the family dearly.

It is weird that joy and sorrow found room in my heart that day. Yet they did. And I am the better for it, for feeling the fullness of the joy and the depths of grief. Life is not safe. It is not known. It is not guaranteed. Life is exciting and terrifying. Yet, even so, the God who created all there is, whose hands formed the stars and the channels for the sea, holds dear the tears of each one of us. Those tears of joy and sorrow. He knows the number and why they fell.

“Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.” Romans 12:15 esv

If there was a lesson to learn here, if I had to distill this one day into one moral message, it would be that we should hold joy and sorrow communally. Sometimes we hold these emotions in the same space and same time and it is overwhelming for one person to carry alone. Yet when we hold them together, when we sharing the burden of it all, the joys deepen and the sorrows ameliorate.

At the core of all these emotions are the relationships that embody them. It always comes back to relationships. My sweet friends asking to see the picture of the tiniest life you ever did see, did so because they care. My same sweet friends holding on to the family grieving, did so because they care.

Genuinely did they reach out in hugs and hand holding or with smiles and stray tears. Genuinely did the family receive the gifts of grace from their community. Genuinely did I flash that picture to those who asked and perhaps to a few who didn’t.

Only in community can we hold the weight of a life breaking forth from the waters to breathe in oxygen searing raw lungs. Only in community can we carry the burdens of waters breaking in quiet corners with lungs raw from searing cries of sorrow. Only in community can we hold life’s dichotomy sacred as life has a way of moving forward in the waiting, in the meantime. The seconds slip into minutes and the day grows older.

This is grace, that we can share joys and sorrows with those who love us. This is lament, that we can carry burdens too heavy for one person. This is the gift of community to experience these together. Even in the same space and the same time.

And we breathe in grace and exhale lament.